


The Favor

by juchu



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Awkwardness, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Platonic Relationships, fun romp in the woods, gen - Freeform, god what if its too serious, i hope it isnt too serious, i tried to not make it that serious, shes just a bit cynical being thrown into the constant does that to people, sweet ok thats all i can say really i guess, there's no one else but maxwell is mentioned and epicly roasted by willow, willow--hear me out, wilson goes mad for legit 2 seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21165890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juchu/pseuds/juchu
Summary: “Aww… Do I have to help? I kinda like fire y'know... Besides… for all I know you could be some dumb monster or my imagination or…” The pigtailed stranger shuddered. “Some human lookin’ Pigman.”“Hey!” Wilson started, cheeks growing red. “Comparing me to those Pigmen is absolutely not scientific! I am a gentleman!”“Shouting isn’t very gentlemanly.”A one-shot featuring flames, tentacles, and a favor.





	The Favor

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this about 3-4 months ago?  
it generally takes me awhile to finish simple things, especially since i was having some difficulty coming up with ways to not make willow seem like an utter jerk haha
> 
> and working with their personalities since this is the first time
> 
> and there was a lot of back and forth pulling with how to handle wilson's dialogue and speech and general quirks
> 
> im not too satisfied rereading it now-- but ill be writing more one-shots (or at least i hope to) so i can fix the problems then!
> 
> good luck!

“Darn it! Darn it all to heck!”

Wilson liked to think he was a good survivor and, of course, one heck of a scientist. Like any scientist, he had a lab. Well, a makeshift one. It wasn’t anything like his old home: a space filled to the brim with familiar test tubes, bubbling miscellaneous liquids, and the occasional rat or two. How he missed it… being able to focus on his genius theories without having to worry about snapping hounds or freezing winters was godsent.

So, he had stood in his makeshift lab about a forty minute walk from the camp he had set up, experimenting on a possible hypothesis of a cold fire. In his well of deep thoughts, the scientist had failed to keep note of the landscape. He was stuck down there, busying himself with mountains of calculations and ideas. At some point, he had whipped up a torch to be used, allowing it to burn bright in enraptured fingers. So concentrated he was that he didn’t notice the soft fluttering of a Redbird as it came down to satisfy its peckishness with a small collection of seeds on the grass. Wilson had stepped forward, intent on going to the other fallen log where some more materials lay, oblivious to the bird directly underfoot. It sent an alarmed cry, scampering forward and lifting its wings. Clawed feet scratched at bare arms, and finally, the gentleman had snapped from his stupor with a surprised yelp, sending his torch tumbling. He had attempted to catch it and almost was successful until it landed on his workbench, sending it ablaze. 

Now, Wilson stood, against all odds, frozen, as he watched some makeshift test tubes made of boards and rope start to catch alight. “No… Oh, no, no, no, no!” he cried. Throwing himself at the flames, he scavenged for his hard work and papyrus rolls. Sparks began to dance on his sleeves. Oh, heck. Oh, blazing heck. He could worry about nature some other time, right now, all that was on his mind was saving his precious research. 

The fire devoured most of the log all Wilson’s science-y stuff was situated on, but he managed to snatch the majority off, attempting to prevent them from slipping in his sweaty palms. At this rate, he’ll have to leave things behind. Wilson bit his lip, watching the flames spread to the trees around. 

He guessed he should have really cursed his lab location: a place in the deep forest he had chosen for its abundance of resources… and apparently for its abundance of flammable objects. 

Though, the scientist had no time to gawk and mourn over any lost research as the evergreens began to set alight. Attempting to pick up one last piece of nitre before hurrying back, Wilson dove to grab it but the flames got to it just before he did. 

Then, a curious thing happened.

The embers engulfing the nitre burned blue, a coolness against the warmth. He watched in awe for a moment. If his arms weren’t full of items, he would’ve immediately whipped his journal out to take notes and possibly make an addition to his science machine, yet the sound of trees falling snapped him from his stupor. 

Wilson squeaked, leaping into the air and regrettably turning back to camp. Through the quickly lightening forest, he scurried in a panic, yelping as he tumbled over a tree root before continuing his journey back. 

He choked on the thick smoke, He grieved over his research, and he nearly tripped straight towards the hungry flames, but he managed to make it back to camp… with the fire still swiftly following. 

A horror filled screech filled the air. His berry bushes! His grass farm!  _ HIS SCIENCE MACHINE!  _ At this rate, the entire deep forest could be burnt to a fine crisp. Hell, he never reached the ends of these piney trees yet. For all he knew, there was some new scientific discovery that would fall with the ashes.

Wilson dove for his Science Machine. It didn’t look like it had caught fire yet. The wheels were still operational, and he continued to receive that blast of inspiration and knowledge when he pulled the lever, so it looked like it wasn’t too late to be saved. Yet, where could he even tug it when the fire was forming an inescapable circle around them? 

He dragged it towards the center of the base, kicking open his chest with his foot. There were the usual resources, but he nabbed the most useful and valuable. Now, there was the problem of leaving the inferno.

What was he to do?

“Who the butt are you?” 

A human voice was possibly the scariest yet most welcome thing to hear in this world. Whipping around, Wilson found a woman, perhaps early middle aged with some Japanese heritage, pointing a threatening axe in his direction. A set of tangled pigtails bounced behind her (she seemed a bit beaten up and dirty, as if she was a survivor as well) as she raised an eyebrow, impatiently awaiting his response.

She wasn’t bothered by the fire blazing around them, but he… well, he was incredibly fascinated by her. Never in the 127 days he’s been here had the gentlemen ever seen another human face- but here was one right in front of him! He desperately wanted to study her, see what the effects of this place had done. Yet, there were more pressing matters at hand. 

“Thank God! Miss, please, can you help me?” he implored with urgent words.

She frowned, wrinkling her nose. “I asked a question first, stinky.”

Wilson groaned as he pulled one of his belongings just out of the flames’ reach. “I’m Wilson Percival Higgsbury-- not stinky--  _ now _ can you help me?”

An eyebrow on the stranger’s face rose suspiciously, a drawl coming out of her. “Aww… Do I have to? I kinda like fire, y’know... Besides… for all I know you could be some dumb monster or my imagination or…” She shuddered. “Some human lookin’ Pigman.” 

“Hey!” Wilson started, cheeks growing red. “Comparing me those Pigmen is absolutely not scientific! I am a gentleman!”

“Shouting isn’t very gentlemanly.”

“PLEASE!!” he cried, literally dropping to his knees. “I am a survivor here like you! Science says you should help me!”

The woman sighed, dropping her axe and slinging it over her shoulder, apparently unimpressed. “I don’t know… hm… I kinda like the fire, I think I’m good…”

The embers were closing in on the scientist. He screeched, pulling his precious machines closer to him. “A FAVOR! Will you do it for a favor?”

That piqued her attention. “Anything?”

“As long as it’s scientifi-” Flames sprouted on the legs of his invention. “NEVERMIND, YES, ANYTHING!!”

“Ya should’ve just lead with that,” the woman quipped. She strolled forward, an airyness to her steps as she peered at the flames, a face full of sunshine and daisies. The last thing she seemed panicked as she took one step forward, foot hovering right above a giant expanse of embers.

“Wait, Miss-” Wilson began, voice shaking.

Then, the stranger got engulfed by the flames. 

For a solid five seconds, Wilson contemplated if he had just technically killed a person until her face appeared next to him, completely unscathed and unburnt.

He yelped in surprise. 

“Wow, aren’t you a big baby,” she snorted as she leaned down to hoist the Science Machine onto her shoulders. “Come on, Wilson!”

Yet, his feet remained rooted on the spot. Jaw hitting the floor, he gawked as she strolled through the flames once more, the only sign of her firewalk being some sputtering out embers on her clothes. How was that possible? Fire resistant clothing  _ and  _ fire resistant skin? Could she be a fellow inventor? A scientist of some sorts to discover the secrets behind fabric that remained unscathed? Wilson had to know her name. Wilson had to study her. Wilson- Wilson… Wilson…

“WILSON!” 

The gentleman jerked himself back to life, the woman glaring at him from across the flames with her arms crossed. His Science Machine whirred safely next to her, out of the embers’ reach. 

“Do I have to get you myself?” she grumbled. Then, before Wilson could even manage one word, she broke through the flames, threw him up, caught him bridal style, and lugged him over the fire. And the entire time, he just stared wide eyed at her.

A constant string of whats, hows, and whos ran circles in his mind.

He finally was dragged into an open clearing with only a couple sparse trees dotting the landscape. There wasn’t a fire in sight save for the faint flickering of the stranger’s lighter. 

Silence.

A distant bird chirp in the distance. 

She glanced up from the flames she had watched oh so lovingly, her palms shaping and molding them to her heart’s desire. Wilson continued gawking.

“Okay, weirdo, so about that favor I asked…” she mused. 

“Who are you?”

His question was unexpected, yet after the initial blink of surprise, she broke out into strange sounding chuckles. Laughs without humor. “I think you’re trying too hard, Maxwell!” the woman cried into the boundless sky. No response. 

“Wait… you know Maxwell?”

Her gaze flickered back to him before giving another unimpressed look to no one in particular. Though, it seemed she decided to humor him. “Yeah, Maxwell is-” this is when she began to yell- “THE WORST EVER! HE IS UGLY! HE IS DUMB! HE IS A NERD! AND HIS SUIT?” A pause.  _ “CHEAP!!!” _

Her voice echoed back.  _ CHEAP!!! Cheap!! Cheap! Cheap... _

Wilson couldn’t help but frown. She was confusing to say the least, even without mentioning her immunity to fire. It was incredible! It was amazing! Yet, she didn’t seem to care about her magnificent skills, much less take note of him…

Why?

She was the only other human he had seen here save for Maxwell, and none of the two liked Maxwell, so why wasn’t she glad, or at least appalled, by the scientist’s presence? 

“The name’s Willow, by the way.” 

Her voice roused him back to life. Willow? Ironic considering willows were flammable plants, yet it did suit her and it rolled off the tongue easily enough. 

Wilson extended his hand forth to her, a friendly beam on his face. Despite his good natured attitude, she huffed, rolling her eyes. That’s when he shrieked again. One glance at his crushed fingers spoke of it all.

Another moment of silence as Willow examined her surroundings. 

“My lady-” he spoke. A flicker of disinterest crossed her face, but nonetheless, she looked up. Then, Wilson promptly exploded. “You’re a scientific surprise! I-I can’t believe it!” he shouted, mouth twisted in a maniacal grin. “I’ve been here for 143 days and never had I seen a doodad like you before! Are you naturally immune or did you concoct something or…?”

Willow frowned. “It’s fire.” she deadpanned. “I like it-” Before the firebug could say more, a thermometer was jammed in her mouth. “There has to be some science-y reason,” Wilson muttered, withdrawing and examining the thermometer as he moved to a pile of items he had saved from the flames. He snatched a journal from underneath a makeshift test tube, flipping through its pages with a mad hunger. “This’d be easier if I just had my darn typewriter!” 

Her body temperature was normal, expected of any human being… so what was the cause of her immunity? His quill fluttered out of messy page. Snatching it from the air, he scribbled notes down on the rare instances of blankness in the sea of messy handwriting. He never did like to categorise his findings with hand, the joint always began to cramp up. Just one more thing about this place to add to the, “Let’s get out,” shtick. 

“Hey, I hate to interrupt your nerdiness or whatever, but you owe me a favor,” Willow griped behind him. An impatient foot tapping sounded over his shoulder. “Sheesh. Maxwell’s just getting more and more creepy each day.”

Wilson glanced up from his frantic chicken marks with surprise. “Oh, right.” He cleared his throat. His science side was screaming at him to finish his research, his logical side was telling him he should at least rebuild base (yet with this high he felt about meeting such a fiery character, it was hard to really feel loss), but the proper gent of him decided to follow through. “I, Wilson Percival Higgsbury, owe you a favor, and as a gentleman, I can assur-”

“Okay, great, leave your crap. We’re going to the marsh.” 

As Willow dragged him by the collar, his jaw snapped shut. “The what now?”

. . .

“You’ve been this far before?”

Wilson shivered as a gust of cold air wormed its way into skinny bones. His question lingered in the air for a moment as he glanced towards Willow, who was staring at the biome ahead of them, a wasteland of soggy grounds and bundles of weeds. 

“Yeah,” she finally spoke, her eyes tearing from the landscape down to her scuffed feet. There seemed to be a glint of guilt in her eyes, but it could have been just the light. “You sound like you never left the woods… haha, loser.” A raspberry completed her sentence.

The scientist puffed out his cheeks. Darn it. It’s true, he never left the giant woods he has taken residence in. After all, he had everything he needed there: food, water, shelter, and a place to do his experiments. There was no point to venture far enough out of the forest, so he never did.

“Okay,” Willow began. “I need you just to kill some small purple worms thingies and bring me their stuff. That’s it.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Why can’t you do it by yourself?”

“Wow, you really are a gentleman.” A sigh. “Fire is kinda my thing, y’know? I hate water and soggy stuff.” She stuck out her tongue. “Just go do it, Wilster-”

“Wilson.”

“Whatever.”

_ Squish, squish, squash, squish. _

Wilson squinted. The dirt of the marsh made sputtering noises under his feet as he raised his eyes to the shimmering wet landscape. It was interesting to say the least… Not a place he would fancy living in, yet a wonderful place to study! There appeared to be an unusual structure in the distance, not unlike an abandoned pig house, just an ominous tower on the horizon. Ponds of black water littered the area. Making a mental note to grab some samples later, the scientist turned his sights back to the task at hand.

Small purple worms… Upon asking where to find them, Willow had answered cryptically, “You’ll know it when you see it.” Perhaps he should’ve asked for clarification...

That’s when he heard a peculiar rumbling. The soggy soil rippled, and as he leaned down to inspect it with a curious quirk of the brow, he only witnessed a flash of purple before being flung down like a limp ragdoll. 

It was a giant tentacle. A darn giant spotted tentacle. It wriggled about wildly like a rattlesnake’s tail, growling like a beast.

_ So, that’s the worm. _

Wilson began to promptly shriek, backpedaling like his life depended on it (which it did). Yet, the marsh was a cruel landscape. His hand got stuck in a water logged hole and before he could manage to yank it out, the tentacle wrapped around his ankle, twirling him as if he were a mere yo-yo. 

“Help! Help would be very much appre-AHH-ciated!” the gentleman cried into the empty sky. Spitting dirt from his mouth as he was once more shoved into the ground, he cried out, clawing for any rational he could have in that moment besides calling for help. “WILLOW!!!!” 

No answer from any nearby firestarters.

Okay, okay. He can do this! He is a scientist! All he needed was just some peace and quiet to think.

Yet, it was a tad difficult with a giant tentacle beating you to death like you had badly insulted its mother!

Finally, Wilson hit blessed solid ground, and using that brief opportunity, he scurried to his feet. The tentacle lashed towards him, and with a squeak, he narrowly dodged it by a hair before doing the absolutely least idiotic thing he could think of: he jumped onto it.

Hollering his head off, Wilson did all he could to hold onto the slippery surface, ignoring the burning wounds on his face. He buried his teeth into the tentacle, and bit down… hard. Seemingly shrieking, it whipped around in agony as the scientist hung on for dear life. 

Wilson ran on whatever adrenaline and survival impulses he had left. As he attempted to not die, his hand dug through his pocket to reveal his makeshift razor. It wasn’t much, but he could do some damage with it. With the object clenched between his teeth, he painstakingly pulled himself towards the tentacle’s root, hugging it as to not fall off with all its flailing. 

Once reaching the area, he buried the blade all the way into the monster. Its screams of pain grated on raw ears. Despite all this comatose, Wilson managed to work the razor through the tentacle’s flesh, tearing at ligaments. 

One second. Two seconds. If he could just work faster, all this would be over.

Attempting to sever it through, he could barely stop the panicked frenzy as the tool nearly slipped out of sweaty hands.

Halfway there! Come on, come on...

Almost… almost…

Before he could manage to slice the monster completely, he was yanked back by its vengeful grab and thrown so far and so hard that he sailed over the treetops. The loud crack that split the air when he finally landed was deafening.

Oh, God. Oh, God.  _ His leg.  _

All he could feel in the moment were fire all down the left side of him, like some flaming beast sunk razor sharp teeth into his leg and tore. Oh, no, no, no. He sat there, shivering for an entire five minutes before other thoughts finally leaked into his mind. 

“Okay, okay, Wilson,” he breathed, shoulders shaking. The bottom part of his leg was starting to go numb and he  _ couldn’t feel his knee.  _ “Dislocated knee, maybe an oblique fracture on the left.” He’s experienced broken bones before. Too many times he could count. Most of the time, it was either from the harsh landscape of this place or experiments at home. Able to gather his thoughts, the gentleman haggardly shifted himself into a more accessible position, grunting in pain. 

First step: relocate the knee. 

Closing eyes, gritting teeth, Wilson braced himself. 

_ Pop! _

The guttural howl he released shook the Earth and sent birds fleeing to the sky.

After another five minutes, the pain receded enough for him to start working on a splint. Luckily enough, there were some lone branches scattered on the ground. With a ripped piece of his sleeve, some reeds, and a branch, he managed to make a lackluster splint. Maybe he didn’t pay as much attention as he liked to during medical lectures, but it would make do for now. 

Raising his gaze, Wilson examined his surroundings. The tentacle that had attacked him laid dead twenty feet away. It appeared that the scientist’s insistent hacking, while not completely thorough, was enough to have made it perish in those brief moments. 

God, why was he even here again? 

A pigtailed stranger with a flickering flame…

Right. Best not to break the gentleman code.

Wilson groaned, grabbing a sturdy branch on the ground to use as a walking cane, and hobbled towards the dead monster. It was difficult enough to slog around in the marsh, but with one leg incapacitated, pain exploding every couple of seconds, and a slippery cane, it made the job to limp twenty feet  _ absolute hell.  _ Yet, nonetheless, he managed to reach it, and the smell that was wafting from the corpse practically knocked him from his feet.

Rotting flesh, thick iron, and a distinct fishy scent had him plugging his nose. He’s still smelled worse though, most experiences due to experiments. A section of the tentacle was sawed off and thrown over his shoulder, and with a final rumble of complaint, he began to look for Willow.

Nothing. The place she had promised to wait for him, well, it was devoid of any signs of life except a simple monarch that fluttered to and fro. Did she… leave him? No. If she sent him here, she would at least want to collect the fruits of his labor… right? 

“Willow!” Wilson called weakly. No answer. Nothing except the faint crooning of the wind. “Where is she?”

He gazed up at the sky. It was bruised red and purple, detailing the night that was to shortly come… He had no resources at hand… Everything he had had been left behind at that clearing.

_ He had to find Willow soon. _

A dusty lump caught his eye… Strange. It was not unlike the trails often left by koalafants (or those darn ewecuses), but it was smaller, much much smaller. Upon shifting it aside, a small footprint revealed itself. It certainly wasn’t an animal track, as it took a distinct shoe shape. So, that could only mean one thing…and as he spotted another lump farther away, Wilson grinned triumphantly. “Onward!” he coughed, hobbling after the trail.

…

Finally, the tracks came to an end. Yet, the previous determination that had fired up his soul was replaced with the grim reality of his humanity: hunger, pain, thirst, and exhaustion. The cuts and bruises on his elbows were beginning to heal or crust over, but God, it still stung. Never mind the snapped leg. Its puffy form was already starting to resemble a balloon. He needed food, he needed water, he needed sleep (never did he think he would have said that), and finally,  _ he needed his lab back! _

Shifting the tentacle draped over his shoulder, Wilson broke through a treeline to find littered stumps and picked berries, a sign of inhabitation. The smell of something roasting tingled his nose… and there! Through a cluster of saplings and grass tufts was a giant fire and the silhouette of a woman with pigtails.

Thank God!

“Willow!” he rasped. His throat practically resembled sandpaper at this point. Limping forward, he broke through the foliage to meet a very stunned face. He’s made it! He’s done it! God, the scientist almost crumbled right there, yet through sheer willpower, he managed to remain standing, a relieved grin on his features.

Willow froze from across the fire, jaw dropped and a roasted carrot halfway to her mouth. “Wil-” she coughed, eyes glazed with an instinctual worry. “Wilson? Are you o-” A cut off. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Her mouth, once drawn up in a nervous call, was now a condescending frown. “You’re still alive. Of course.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Still alive?” he echoed. “My lady, it almost sounds like you  _ wanted _ me to die out there.” Aggression was rare for Mr. Percival Higgsbury, yet, his small shoulders shook with his statements, a thin grinding rage growling in his stomach. The pain in his leg was an unwelcome reminder of what  _ he had done for her _ , all a wild goose chase. 

“Okay, I’ve been playing along with whatever the hell his game is for awhile, but I’m done.”

_ “Pardon me?” _

“You really want to keep pretending? Do you seriously think that I’ll believe you’re a human? An actual person? Yeah, no. Maxwell’s done lotsa things since I’ve been here, but this has gotta be his craziest stunt yet.” Willow jammed the rest of the carrot into her mouth. She swallowed. “Now, all I gotta do is kill you before ya turn into some giant monster with big teeth once it gets to night.” 

“You don’t believe me?” Wilson hissed. “I broke my leg on your quest of death, I’ve got more smarts and science and gentlemanliness than what Maxwell can just make up! I’ve told you, I’m a survivor! A survivor just like yo-”

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” 

Silence.

Willow stood there, trembling in the blazing light of the flames. Was it his imagination, or had the fire jumped higher than ever? The smell of charcoal choked his lungs and stung bleary eyes. She tightened her fist, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she would attempt to burn him with the forest. “You’re just a thing!” Willow spat. “ Just something Buttwell sent to jump me as some dumb one millionth attempt!” The firestarter unleashed a guttural groan, throwing her stick where the carrot once roasted into the fire pit… and as it grew greater, a bright raging star, she seemed comforted by its uncontrolled presence. Quiet fell once more. Just the sound of the flames crackling and Willow’s fading anger.

One minute.

Two.

The evening that had pushed Wilson to find Willow was close to its death. It began to drown in the inky blackness that was to come with night, and just like blood seeping into cloth, the darkness plagued the sky. Wilson had always questioned the darkness. Why weren’t there stars? Why couldn’t he see the moon save on the few times it was full? Yet, he shook himself of his thoughts and returned to the matter at hand.

Wilson creeped forward. All previous appalled irritation was replaced by an uncertainty. One last chance to reason before he was possibly slayed by this woman. His voice was quiet. Just barely above a crackly whisper lost in the sounds of the huge fire. “What if your hypothesis was wrong?”

She said nothing, only turning from the flames to give him a glassy look.

“What if, despite all your observations, it isn’t supported?”

“That’s dumb,” she croaked. “Didn’t I tell you it's impossible for another person out here?” 

“The graves?”

“Stuff made by Buttwell to scare me.”

Wilson sighed. The scientist ran his fingers through dark hair. “Well, aren’t you pessimistic… Surely you can believe that if you’re here, then I can be!”

She released a sharp bark of laughter. The mocking tone was thinly veiled, yet behind her taunting, there was a sapling of loneliness that has since sprouted into an ancient oak. An oak of droopy branches, gloomy roots and weeping leaves. “Kinda too late to be all ‘optimistic’ ‘nd crap.” 

Wilson frowned at her air quotes.

“And you? I dunno… hard to believe some scrawny scientist with a slurper on his head survived here.”

Silence. Wilson could see her logic, clear as day. Yet, he didn’t seem to think the same thing as she had when he first saw her figure among the forest fire. He had been overjoyed, enthusiastic even. Rushing to her in glee despite him never having been much of a social butterfly. So, why? Why did she assume that he was some monster created by Maxwell? Why did he not wonder the same thing, and instead, willingly pursued her? His eyes slid to the firebug from across the fire. Her posture and the strange welling sadness in her face reminded him of a downcast sky. 

“You said I’m going to turn into a monster once it gets dark?” Wilson piped. 

Willow raised an eyebrow but did not tear her eyes from the now dimming fire, its curly flames growing low.

“Well…” He chuckled weakly. “I haven’t grown another head or turned fifty feet tall if you’re wondering.”

“God, why don’t you listen to me? I told you.  _ You. Are. Not. Human.” _

Wilson prided himself on being a determined gentleman despite the frustrations in the world of science. Yet, something about her tone, being stripped away from his last inch of humanity in this god forsaken place by the only other survivor he’s seen was…  _ was stifling!  _ The grinding of his teeth sounded like a sharpened knife on stone. “I don’t understand… I don’t get why you- why you can’t trust me!” 

_ “I don’t trust monsters.” _

That seemed to snap something in Wilson. He froze. It was silent. Then, his words returned, creeping forward like slithering snakes, “If that’s the case…” 

Willow whipped her head up, mouth pursed into a thin line in sudden alertness. There was something off about his tone… His voice echoed strangely, “Then, I need to prove myself.”

The scientist looked  _ mad.  _ A maniacal sinister grin stretched out on his face with sharp thin teeth like a twisted line of veins. His eyes were alight with a recklessness that almost bordered on suicidal. Willow followed his line of sight to a nearby bucket of water, and followed it to the dimming fire next to her. She froze for a second. “Wait, don’t do it-” she cried, just a moment too late.

Then, she was plunged into true darkness. 

It was dark, too dark. What was that? Who’s there? 

Willow fought for her lighter, patting down blindly in the night. God damn it, God damn it, God damn it. Where was it? As she blindly searched, cursing Wilson and the death that would soon encroach upon her vulnerable figure, she could hear the scientist’s insane chittering laughter, a nervous squirrel. The squirrel chattered madly, moving around in the darkness. 

“See!” he cried. “I’m normal! I’m a survivor just like you!” 

Willow dug around in her skirt pockets. No lighter.

“ _ Now _ do you believe me?”

A twig snapped somewhere. A hiss, soft and nearly indistinguishable against the sudden roaring of the wind. Willow dove her hand towards the extinguished firepit. It was somewhere near the rocks, it has to be! The roaring got louder. No, no, no, no, no. Something brushed against her back, creating roaches skittering up skin. Her wandering hand wrapped around her lighter’s handle.

“Willow! Don’t you see? I told you, I bloody told you-” He froze. 

Had it always been this cold? This chill like he had entered a slaughterhouse’s fridge? That’s when the pair heard it. A growl. A guttural sound of the hunter coming with its long claws and mysterious form, ready to pluck any mortal stupid enough to remain blind in its domain. She could feel a presence, full of serpent shadows winding heavy coils in a strangeling tomb. Then, something shot towards her in the night. 

Suddenly, a small flame flickered to life. Willow’s face came to view as horror twisted her lip in a caricature of a shivereled log. 

Wilson’s voice shuddered somewhere in the dark. “Who’s there? I-I have an empty bucket and I’m not afraid to use it!” Each word was squeaky as a possessed violin, and as Willow followed his sounds with her small flame, she could hear every second of his panic. 

“Are you stupid?! Come here!” she hissed from her ring of safety. Nearly tripping over a log on her way, she drove forward towards his voice. Closer… Closer… And closer… She raised her lighter towards him just a second too late.

A great shriek shook the pitch black. Wilson’s yelp of pain and his falling crash sent shivers up Willow’s arms as she shined her light over the fallen man.

“Some-Something bit me…” 

Willow gulped. Oh, God. How she expected the worst.

The firestarter leaned down, her tiny light finding a familiar twisted hairdo, like the gnarled branches of wicker trees. Wilson’s eyes were wide with panic, but upon seeing her fire approach, he crawled towards it like a starving man would hurry desperately towards food. Wrapping skeletal arms around her legs, the gentleman was little more than a trembling animal, scared out of his mind.

She felt something wet.

Her gaze wandered downwards to the small stream of wine red that dripped down to the grassy terrain.  _ Blood. _

She should be used to it at this point. Yet, living in this hell hole for four months and knowing what monster lie in wait in the dark did little to affect the fear of a disappearing light or a fellow victim. 

Wilson’s clammy words came back to Willow. “Please,” he breathed. “Whatever you do, don’t…. hah… don’t turn… your… lighter..of f .f...” His voice faded out weakly to shaky exhales. The arms around her legs slackened, hitting the spiky ground with unceremonious thuds. 

…

It was too bright.

Far too bright for Wilson’s taste. 

Hesitant eyes. The scientist blinked blearily into the straight face of a sizzling sun, sneering down at him, taunting his tired form. Despite his sleepiness, he couldn’t deny that he felt more well rested than he’s ever been in years. It was comforting. The cool weight of a blanket on his skin, the press of a mattress on his back, the fresh air with the twittering of young birds… and, for just a moment, he allowed himself to indulge in this rare comfort. Wishing for a better position to turn the sunlight hitting his face, he began to shift himself and-

Wilson shrieked. A pain, so deep and so utterly rooted in torture stung him. No, not just stung. It bit him, burnt him, minced him into tiny shreds till he floated away like withered leaves on the wind. What in the name of science happen to his leg and back?

_ Why did they hurt so much? _

Where was he? Oh, God. Everything hurt. Nothing made sense. He was going to die! 

Suddenly, he got slapped in the face.

“Stop! Your stupidness is going to break the stitches!” a voice hissed. 

Wilson squinted. A woman, face full of irritation with faint sparks of relief. Her tangled pigtails and raggedy hair looked unkempt, like a wild lily bush, yet it still floated gently in the wind. 

“W-Willow?” he croaked. A barrade of coughs assaulted him, each one spurring a fresh new wave of pain. 

“Good, you’re not insane.” She shook her head, turning to grab something behind her. 

“I am sorry, I-” 

“Shut up. If you say sorry again, I promise you, I will burn down your science stuff.” 

Wilson frowned.

Everything was a bit of a blur. The sun was high above the horizon, yet not close enough to be midday. Most likely morning. Yet, what was he doing here? Why was he here? He had known who this strange woman was, but his mind ran futile circles in an attempt to figure out where he knew her from. 

The mattress he laid on was of straw, comfortable yet scratchy in areas. As for the “blanket” he had been holding so tightly onto… it was his scarlet waistcoat, wrapped carefully around his body to ward away nighttime chills. Something stung painfully around his back, and as he reached back to touch the spot, the brush of a makeshift bandage met trembling fingertips. 

Suddenly, his memories slapped him in the face,  _ almost _ as hard as Willow had just a few seconds prior. 

The fire. The tentacle. The favor. And the monster of the night. 

Oh, God.  _ He really was an idiot.  _

“What have I done?” he rasped. 

Had the so-called-gentleman really extinguished the flames in a reckless attempt for Willow to believe him? Had he truly been so impolite as to forget of what horrors haunt the pitch black of night? Apparently so.

Wilson flopped back down with a thud, eliciting another yip of pain.

Willow returned to sit next to his lying form, setting down a small hollowed out stone filled with clear water along with a handful of roasted sweetberries. “It’s not much, but… ah… it’s ‘kay ‘till I go fishing. Your throat sounds like something died in it.” 

The scientist dove for the food and drink like an animal. In just two seconds, the water was downed and the berries were shoved down his gullet. Finally, his belly’s gigantic roaring beast had turned to the gnawing of a rat and those spiders in his throat had been all but squashed. Now, he could come to grips with his predicament. Eyeing Willow from the corner of his eye, he wiped his mouth of the berry juice with a touch of embarrassment. Well, the firestarter was being… unusually kind today...

“Are-Are you feeling alright?” Wilson stammered, rubbing away the last of the berry aftermath from his chin.

She frowned. “I should be asking you that.”

“Ah… listen, Willow, I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me and I just did something very ungent-”

A sweaty hand clamped over his mouth, turning his last words to a muffled mystery. “Didn’t I say to shut up?” Willow shook her head. A sigh formed on her parted lips. 

“Look… I…  _ I’m sorry _ ,” she began, eyes suddenly finding an acute interest in the thick cluster of burnt trees around her camp. “I should’ve believed you. I shouldn’t have jumped to assumptions and sent you off to fight some dumb tentacle, and I definitely shouldn’t’ve said you weren’t human.” She chuckled weakly. “I guess you ‘bloody told’ me so, huh? How about I give you some food and some supplies and you never ever have to see me again? Deal?”

Her uneasy sentences, stringed awkwardly like sloppy paper mache, made him writhe. He fidgeted, rubbing sweaty palms together. 

Wilson never was and never has been a social butterfly. Slamming down signs with clear, “Go away!” notions was enough to deter many people from approaching his house in the middle of nowhere. Yet, some would be ignorant enough to slip through, knocking urgently on the door during the night of a storm while he attempted to pretend he was anything but home. People would chastise him, ‘You should go out, meet new people!’ Then, the answer was always the same: “Once I discover something great.” Genius at work could not be stopped for some measly parties (God, he hated parties) or a candlelit dinner. Yes, indeed, Wilson P. Higgsbury never was a social butterfly.

Yet, since being whisked away to this… place, he’s been eager for just the smallest inkling of civilization. When he had first seen the small house in the middle of the forest, an oasis in the desert, he rushed towards it, banging on the door with the desperation and cheer of a chap who was  _ this _ close to the winning ticket. Imagine his surprise when an anthropomorphic pig with beady eyes waddled out of the house. It had been somewhat intelligent. Brief grammatically erroneous sentences poured from its mouth, sloppy with snorting speech. Wilson still couldn’t understand how a creature like that managed to build such a complex home. Yet, despite their ability to speak, it was still a hop, skip, and a leap from one of a human being. 

Now, the first sight of a real person in the choking smoke of the forest… it was a breath of fresh air. 

Where once all he had to worry about were the correctness of his chemical formulas and carbon skeletons, now he had to fight back tooth and nail against the clawings of the dark, baying of beasts in the distance, and the freezing burns of winter.

Yes, never before had Wilson wanted more social interaction than now.

He wanted someone he could confide in outside of a lone rock or the occasional butterfly. He wanted someone he could shake hands with after they took down another koalaphant in a great hunt, and even better, he wanted someone he could just sit back-to-back while weaving flower crowns to scare away the infinite dark. 

So, did Wilson want to never see Willow again? 

He shifted uneasily, his hand ghosting over his splinted broken leg. Glancing down, the scientist identified the split, neatly tied together with expert grass knots. It’s a better job than he could’ve done. 

Then, his eyes found her face. There was a hard quality to it, a rock that refused to be weathered by the sleet, rain, and the harsh temperatures of this world. Yet, there could be something foreign found. A nervousness within every tiny ridge and groove of her cheeks, followed by a hollow disappointment. 

“Pardon me, Willow, but… is it alright if I… uhm… stay?” he began, twiddling his thumbs. “But, if you don’t want me to, I can leave! Anytime! I don’t want to intrude, I’ve made many mistakes but I promise I won’t repeat them again, and-”

She shut him up once more with a prompt sweaty hand to the mouth, and as she jumped up to her feet, there was a noticeable chipperness to her step. When Wilson glanced up, he was startled at her sudden change of expression with a big crescent moon smile spreading across her face like wildfire. “Of course you’re not intruding, just sayin’ to make sure  _ you _ ’re okay with it,” Willow chuckled her little flutey laugh. She punched his shoulder playfully. “But you’re going to have to help me out, firepit’s kinda ruined with all that water you put on it.” 

Wilson’s face burned slightly. “Yes, ahem, I’m terribly sorry about that. If it helps, I can collect some firewood and the what nots- if it helps, of course.” 

Willow offered him forth an arm, and with a small grunt, she managed to pull him up to wobbly feet. “God, I’m just horsin’ around. I’ll go grab some firewood, you--youuuu-- I’ll help you with movin’ your stuff over here too if--uhh-- if the spiders haven’t gotten to them yet.”

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience, trust me. As a gentleman, it’s fine.” He dusted off his pant legs. 

There was a loud moan, but one can tell it was a playful little noise. “Shut up about the ‘I’m-a-gentleman’ stuff,” Willow said. “Listen, listen, listen. Are you listenin’? Okay, I owe you, you don’t owe me, especially with that uh… y’know… the thing I asked… you… to do-- so it’s my duty! So how about it, huh? Let me do a favor for you?” She stuck out her hand, a scoop of vanilla.

Wilson found this tiny little sane laugh, a bit apprehensive but overjoyed in its smallness. “I guess…” He reached out his hand. “Alright… sure.”

And he took hers.


End file.
